THE WREN DISAPPEARS.
"But as I reached the ground a startling thing happened. I missed my
footing and found myself rolling down a steepish bank. At the bottom
I fetched up against an odd-looking little hut almost overgrown with
bushes. It was bright moonlight and the door was open.
"Inside was a fire, and by its light I could see that the place was
empty of human life, but that a collection of objects already familiar
to me almost filled it.
"It was an illicit still!
"Clearly enough, also, it was operated by my hosts up above.
"I listened for sounds of pursuit, but heard none. Possibly they had not
yet crept into my room to perform their horrible resolve.
"Suddenly the silence was broken by appalling yells and screams. My hair
bristled for an instant and then I burst into a laugh.
"It was a pig that I heard. At the same instant it dawned on me that it
was the pig that they had been discussing dispatching and not me at all.
You can imagine the revulsion of my feelings. But I felt sore at the
scare they had given me, so I decided to do some work for the government
and even up scores at the same time.
"Entering the shack, I scattered the coals of the fire right and left.
Then I came away. No, I did _not_ go back to the cabin. It would, as
your friend Jeb said, not have been healthy for me.
"Instead I set off running at top speed through the woods. Before long I
saw a glow on the sky behind me, and knew that flames were devouring the
vile stuff that moonshiners make.
"I left my pack behind me, however, and I hope that compensated them for
the loss of their still. I'm sure the woman, at any rate, would value
its contents more highly."
They all burst into a laugh at the conclusion of Mr. Parker's odd story.
They were still laughing when Mandy rushed out on the porch.
"Miss Wren done be gone!" she shouted.
"Gone!" they all echoed, in dismayed tones.
"Yes. I done go to her room to see de poo' lamb is com'foble, and she
not there. I done find dis writin', too."
"Let me look at it," demanded Mr. Parker.
"It mighty hard to read. It sure is a scan-lous bit of writin'."
With this comment the colored woman handed over to her master a bit of
dirty wrapping paper.
On it was scrawled in almost illegible characters:
"U wont git hur agin.--The Romanys."
"The Romanys!" exclaimed Peggy.
"Yes; that's the gipsy word for themselves," said Mr. Parker. "I'm
afraid that the same band that had her before has stolen her again."
"What are we to do?" wailed Bess.
"Hush!" said Jess; "let Mr. Parker decide what is best."
They stood about with dismayed faces.
Miss Prescott was weeping softly. Peggy could hardly keep back her
tears. The little brown Wren had become very dear to all of them. It was
a hard blow indeed to lose her like this.
"But how could they know that she was here?" objected Jimsy.
"Why, that silly newspaper report that went out when you arrived here
about your adventures on the way and the romantic rescue of Wren. If
they had come across that it would have given them a clew."
"They were traveling south then, Wren said, and that was two weeks ago.
They would have had ample time to reach this vicinity."
"That is so," rejoined Mr. Parker solemnly; "I'll make telephonic
inquiries at once. They may have been seen in the vicinity."
"While you are doing that we'll examine the room. They may have left
a clew there," said Roy.
Roy and Jimsy darted upstairs on this errand. On looking round the place
it was clear enough how the abductors had gotten in. Outside the window
was an extension roof. It would have been very easy for an active man
such as gipsies usually are to have clambered in and out again without
detection.
Taking a lantern they examined the ground outside. On a flower bed below
the roof was the imprint of a man's feet.
"Notice anything peculiar about it?" asked Jimsy, for Roy was bending
earnestly over the prints.
"Yes, I'd know that foot print again anywhere," he said; "see, one side
of the man's boot was broken, the one of the right foot. His toes show
here on the ground."
"That might be a good clew if it was daylight; but right now--"
Jimsy sighed. It was manifestly impossible to do any tracking of the man
with the broken boot in the darkness.
"We'll have to wait till daylight."
"Yes, bother it all. They may be miles away by that time."
"I doubt it. I wouldn't wonder if they hide right around here. There are
lots of good places, and they know that the hue and cry will be so hot
that they would be caught if they traveled."
"That's so. Maybe we can find them, after all."
"Let's hope so. Well, we can do no more good here. Let's go in."
Peggy met them at the door. She seemed wildly excited over something.
"The mail rider's just been here," she exclaimed, "and listen to this
letter. It's from a woman living near New York. She just got back from
Europe and in an old newspaper she read an account of our sky cruise.
"She is certain that The Wren is her daughter and gives a description of
her that tallies in every particular. She said that Wren was caught out
in a heavy thunderstorm and sought refuge in a gipsy camp, as she
learned afterward from a farmer who had seen her. She hunted high and
low but has never since had word of the child. Her right name is Sylvia
Harvey. Mrs. James Harvey is her mother, and she's rushing here as fast
as a train will carry her."
"If it is really Sylvia Harvey then her mother has found her only to
lose her again," sighed Jess.
"Don't say that," said Mr. Parker, coming into the room at that moment,
"we'll leave no stone unturned to find her."
"Did you have any success with the telephone?"
"No; nobody has seen a band of people answering to the descriptions you
gave of The Wren's abductors."
"Then we can do nothing more?"
The question came from Roy.
"Not to-night. It would be useless. I have notified all the police
around and a general alarm will be sent out at once. And now I order
every one to bed. We've hard work in front of us tomorrow."